


To Hell & Back

by rebeccaofsbfarm



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Graphic Depictions of Violence: War Poetry and One Reference to Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poetry, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trick or Treat: Treat, Veteran Eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccaofsbfarm/pseuds/rebeccaofsbfarm
Summary: Their relationship, if that’s what this is, is still in its infancy, only hours old, and already his baggage is out there, unlatched suitcases strewn between them, entangled in the already domestic comfort of Buck’s bed. And fuck, Eddie’s heart nearly bursts as he watches Buck step over them, arms reaching out to pull him against his chest.Eddie realizes that Buck wants all of him, not just the parts that are easy.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 238
Collections: Buddie Trick or Treat





	To Hell & Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [an_alternate_world](https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_alternate_world/gifts).



> So I heard the song "To Hell and Back" by Maren Morris, and was immediately like _somebody needs to write Eddie Diaz to this song_ so I did.
> 
> Kami, I hope you like this!

* * *

The first night they sleep together is a disaster.

Eddie should be grateful, honestly. Surviving this day with his body largely intact shouldn’t be taken for granted, especially after the night they had.

They’d been called out to a house fire, an older build that ignited like kindling in the dry heat. Buck and Eddie were the last in the house, doing a final check to make sure everyone had gotten out safely. Nearing the finish, Eddie tells Chim to go out ahead of them while they check the last few rooms. He nods, before heading out the way they came in.

He scans the room, making sure no one is huddled in a corner or under the furniture. He’s about to tell Buck they’re good to head out when there’s a sickening crack above their heads. By the time he places the sound and turns to warn Buck, the beam is falling to the floor between them, just over Eddie’s shoulder. It sends up a shower of sparks, and for a moment he loses sight of Buck. His heart stops until the smoke clears a little and he can make out Buck’s eyes searching frantically for his. The flames lick up from the beam, waist-high and rising, and Eddie waves Buck on, telling him to hurdle over it. Buck nods before taking a running start and leaping over the beam. Eddie catches him in his arms, stabilizing him on his feet before bodily shoving him forward toward the open door. 

He takes in great gulps of air as they exit the house, but his hand doesn’t leave Buck’s shoulder, his fingers clinging to him after so strongly feeling his loss only moments before. Before they can get much further, someone is pressing water on them, and they pour the cold water over their faces and into their parched mouths, trying to wash the taste of soot from their tongues.

Another pump truck pulls up, and while the fire is mostly handled, another station takes over as their shift ends. Eddie is grateful to take his seat across from Buck, both of them visibly exhausted, their limbs limp with exhaustion. Now that he finally has time to pause and think about the call, all he can see is the cloud of smoke Buck had disappeared into, the absence of him that had wrapped its fingers around Eddie’s throat and made it impossible to breathe.

He’s running out of fingers to count the number of times he’s nearly lost Buck, most of them just out of his reach, out of his protection. He’d stood by powerless when Buck cried out from beneath the crushing weight of the ladder truck, and again when blood had poured from his mouth, his eyes pleading for someone to make it stop. God, even before Buck had told him about Chris during the tsunami, his stomach had dropped at the sight of Buck so _broken_ , both body and spirit. And he knew it wasn’t just him. Frank had made him watch the footage of the night he’d nearly been buried alive, and he’d had to look away the moment the tunnel collapsed, not because he saw the earth pouring on top of him, but because he couldn’t watch Buck clawing desperately at the ground to retrieve him.

His expression must be sufficiently brooding for Buck to reach across the space between them, long fingers circling his wrist. Buck knows him so well, and can tell by just the flick of his eyes exactly what is on his mind, “I’m okay Eds. We’re both okay.”

He surprises himself by covering Buck’s grasp with his other hand, holding him there as he watches him carefully. Hen and Chim are riding back in the ambulance, and the driver is paying them no mind, not that they’re doing anything that could be suspect. Still, Eddie can only tighten his grip as Buck watches him, trying to piece together what Eddie needs, what he’s trying to say without words.

Buck reads him in a way nobody has before. He finds it so hard to piece together the words sometimes, to string them together into something resembling his feelings, but all Buck needs are his fingertips, reading the lines of his palms like his thoughts are written there in Braille. Tonight this means lifting Eddie’s palm to his mouth and kissing him just above his wrist.

It crosses some sort of invisible barrier they hadn’t yet crossed, and Buck drops his hand as quickly as he had pressed his lips there. Eddie settles back into his seat, watching Buck carefully as he examines his fingertips, refusing to look up. Eddie wonders what his eyes would betray if they would only meet his own.

Pulling into the station, the next shift has already started. Rather than interrupt their routines, Eddie only stops to leave off his turnouts and grab his stuff from his locker. He can feel Buck just a step behind him, watching over him like a shadow, until he’s at his truck and Buck is tugging on the handle of the passenger side.

Eddie pauses, catching his eyes across the truck bed, but nods when Buck asks for a ride. They both ignore the gray Jeep in the spot next to his. Eddie sits behind the wheel, unsure of his route until he knows his destination.

“Chris?” Buck asks.

“Abuela’s. Carla watched the news and figured it’d be a late one. He should be asleep already.”

“Yours or mine?” Buck asks simply after a few moments of weighted silence.

“You have the bigger shower,” Eddie decides, putting his truck into gear and heading toward Buck’s.

He’s thought of doing this a thousand times at least, and there’s a part of him that thinks he’s still back in that house fire, passed out on the floor and imagining this whole conversation. But there’s another part of him, something stronger, that reaches into Buck’s space. Buck takes his hand and brings it to his lips, brushing them over his knuckles.

His hand has had more action tonight than the rest of him put together, but from the thickness of the air between them, he doesn’t think that will be an issue for long. He knows there are words, valuable pearls of wisdom they need to share, but he can’t summon them to his lips, instead stroking Buck’s wrist with his thumb.

When they get to the loft, Buck lengthens his stride so that by the time Eddie catches up, he’s holding the door open to allow him inside. Eddie steps into his space, and a rather large part of him expects, hopes, that Buck will shove him against the nearest wall and silence whatever thoughts are creeping up on him, but instead he makes a quick detour to the kitchen, jostling cabinets as he pour them both water and encourages Eddie to hydrate.

They stand facing each other in Buck’s kitchen for what seems like eternity, avoiding eye contact and busying themselves with their waters, using the convenient excuse to maintain the silence rather than break it. As expected, it’s Buck that finally takes the leap, setting his glass down and taking a step closer.

“Eddie, has anyone ever called you the strong, silent type?”

He chuckles as he sets his own glass aside, “I’ve heard it a few times, yes.”

“Well then let me say something, and all I need from you is a one-word answer. Think you can handle that?”

As if to prove the point of his own reserve, Eddie nods rather than give his confirmation aloud. Buck takes a deep breath, his eyes flicking up to meet Eddie’s before dropping back to the countertop nervously.

“I thought you were gone...again. For only a second this time, but Eddie I’m _tired_ ,” he seems to redirect his line of reasoning entirely. “Everyone I give my heart to ends up hurting me, and then they leave, and I’m left battered and scarred and _alone_. Every time it happens, it makes it harder the next time, trying to trust someone, to love them.

“And Eddie, you came around when the wounds were so fresh. I was still reeling from Abby, still trying to mend things with Maddie, and yet somehow, there you were. And the pull was there, the pull to just take my heart out of my chest and hand it over. But I resisted, because I was hurt and I was scared.

“Being your friend, Eddie, that’s _everything_ to me. But God, Eddie, it’s more than...you’re more than... _you’re_ everything, Eddie. And I’m tired of going through hell with you, wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to tell you that I...anyway, if the answer is no, let’s just pretend we never had this conversation, okay?”

“What about the other answer?” Eddie asks, and the look Buck gives him, the hesitant hope in his eyes, makes butterflies flutter in his gut.

“I’m sorry?” Buck asks, stunned. Eddie takes a step closer to him.

“The other possible answer,” Eddie teases him, matter-of-factly. “What happens if I say yes?”

“I hadn’t really thought that part through, honestly,” Buck admits curiously, and his eyes search Eddie’s, looking for some sort of contingency, but finding none. His gaze falls cautiously to Eddie’s lips, and then he wets his own, before looking for confirmation in his eyes.

When Eddie reaches out, his fingers graze the curve of Buck’s cheek to coax him forward, he expects some sort of cataclysmic burst of energy, a release of years of pent up emotion and urgency, but when their lips finally meet, he feels suddenly at peace. It feels like the slight give of a combination lock when the tumblers finally line up and the shackle is freed.

He’s spent too much of his life not kissing Buck to stop now, and he takes his time, teasing him by focusing on his lips until he feels Buck’s tongue probing into the cavern of his mouth. He lets Buck press his back against the counter to anchor them, crowding him and kissing him lazily, pulling from what seems to be an endless supply of reserve oxygen.

He hasn’t felt like this since he was a teenager, content to stand here and kiss Buck until the sun comes up without taking it any further. He wants to find out what he likes, the sounds he makes, the way he tastes after his morning coffee. He realizes he’s smiling when Buck smiles back at him, and his awareness of their lips smiling against one another finally makes him pull back to chuckle.

“I feel like you’ve been holding out on me,” Buck answers him breathlessly. “We should keep exploring this I think,” he’s caught off guard by a yawn that fills his chest, “but maybe further exploration can be done from the comfort of my bed.”

“How much exploration are we talking about?” Eddie asks, and it’s not a leading question. It’s truthfully open-ended. Buck’s yawn has made him feel the heaviness of his own limbs, and he remembers the promise of Buck’s shower.

“Are you in a rush?” Buck asks, and Eddie realizes that he isn’t. Suddenly the urgency of holding onto Buck, of letting him know how much he means, has ebbed into the familiarity of just wanting to be with him. When Eddie doesn’t answer, Buck clears his throat nervously. “You didn’t know me when I was sleeping around, but it’s not something I’m proud of. And fuck Eddie, _I want you_ , I do, but I need to do this thing right. I can’t live without you. Or your son. So I need to take this slow. I can’t fuck this up with you.”

“And what if I fuck it up?” Eddie asks, betraying the thought that follows by saying it aloud.

“I won’t let you,” Buck answers matter-of-factly, and he sounds so _sure_ of himself. “It’s too late to get into the what-ifs tonight. That last call really took it out of me. I remember you mentioning a shower?”

“We can shower separately,” Eddie concedes, but he can’t help but add, “if you _insist_.”

Buck hesitates before his eyes lecherously scan over Eddie’s body, “Nothing I haven’t seen before, right?”

 _It’s not the same_ , Eddie thinks, but this time he’s smart enough to keep it to himself. “Right, just like showering at the station.”

* * *

It was _not_ just like showering at the station.

He can tell Buck is trying to be _good_ , and he wants so badly to indulge him, but then Buck turns to face the showerhead, tossing his head back and exposing the long column of his neck. Before he knows what he’s doing, Eddie is pressing his lips to the hollow of his throat. He waits for Buck to object, but then he’s moaning beneath him.

 _Fuck_. He’s heard Buck groan in pain, in frustration, but never like this. Instead of stopping him, Buck cradles the back of his head, tugging him back by his hair to kiss him again. This is the delayed burst he’d expected before, and when Buck presses him against the tiled wall of the shower, he can feel the hard length of his body, supplemented by a noticeably hard length between his legs.

He lets his fingers trail down Buck’s abs suggestively, fingers trailing through the tuft of blond curls leading him lower, but he pauses and asks, “Can I?”

To his credit, Buck hesitates, but then Eddie is sucking a blemish into his collar bone, and he consents, “Fuck, _please_.”

“God, Buck. I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits, flattening him fully against the wall with his body. Buck’s hand disappears between their bodies, and as he takes the weight of Buck’s cock in his fist, he feels Buck’s fingers wrap around his erection, pulling the breath from his lungs. “Want _you_.”

“Fuck, want you too,” is all that Buck can manage, and he wishes he could take things slow, take Buck apart and watch him go slack under his touch, but he’s in a race against exhaustion and he knows Buck is too, so their strokes are urgent and clumsy, chasing their release and panting into each other’s skin. Buck’s shoulder is warm against his lips, and he gives in to the temptation to press his teeth there, before covering the crescent-shaped marks with his tongue to soothe them. Buck cries out, and the sound echoes in the closeness of the shower stall. “Damn it, I’m not going to last.”

“Me neither,” Eddie confesses, as his own orgasm ignites deep inside him. “Just don’t stop, please. God, I want to come for you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Buck curses, his hips stuttering into Eddie’s grasp. He feels the sticky warmth of Buck ejaculate for only a moment before the water washes it away. Buck’s grip stalls for only a moment before he takes charge, shoving Eddie backwards against the opposite wall and holding him there, his forearm across Eddie’s chest as he holds his gaze, his hand a vice around Eddie’s cock as he pulls needy sounds from his throat. “Fuck, Eds, let it go. I’ve got you.”

Buck’s soft words of encouragement do him in, and he slumps against him, letting the shower wash away the evidence of what had been an incredible, earth-shattering orgasm. If Buck could do that with his hand, Eddie can only imagine what he could do with a bed and a few hours.

“You’re incredible,” Buck murmurs against his face, lazily kissing the skin he can reach as he holds Eddie up. “God, that was... _fuck_.”

“I think that was the last of my energy reserves,” Eddie admits, still allowing Buck to take some of his weight. “Take me to bed?”

Buck must agree with him, because he takes both of his hands and walks backwards out of the shower stall, letting Eddie follow at his lagging pace. Buck grabs a soft towel from his bathroom counter, and when Eddie reaches for it, Buck shakes his head. Instead, he towels them both off, letting Eddie lean on him for support, barely able to keep his eyes open.

They stumble into the bed, and Eddie recognizes the musk of Buck’s scent mixed with the smell of his detergent, and he relaxes into it. He’s slipping away, into what he hopes is a heavy slumber, but before he does he can’t resist pulling Buck to him, searching for his lips blindly and lazily kissing him until he forgets how to breathe. Buck chuckles against his lips, but doesn’t admonish him, then settles Eddie against his chest.

Eddie falls asleep to the easy rise and fall of Buck’s chest, his heartbeat a steady hum that harmonizes with his own.

* * *

The first thing he’s aware of is Buck’s unyielding grip on his arms, the pressure of his fingertips nearly enough to bruise. He gasps, trying to catch his breath, and Buck must see the awareness in his eyes, because he loosens his hold.

“Fuck, I didn’t want to startle you, but--” Before Buck can tell him what happened, he already knows. The night terrors have let up over the years, but sometimes they sneak up on him when he’s stressed or worn-out. It had been a long time since he’d had one, even longer since he’d had _witnesses_. Buck’s eyes are still fearful, but his face is calm, his body language awaiting instruction. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The truth is that he has already forgotten what he’d dreamed of. Sometimes it was Afghanistan, sometimes it was watching Shannon die, and sometimes he’s stuck in the moment he’d thought he lost Christopher to the tsunami. But regardless, the thing that lasts longer than the awful memory is the embarrassment that comes with waking up in someone else’s bed, soaking their sheets in sweat and waking them from a steady sleep with unnatural sounds.

“Nightmare,” he answers cagily, purposefully playing down the intensity of what they’d both experienced. “I get them sometimes, usually when my body is too tired to fight them. I have a prescription, _trazodone_ ,” he pronounces the drug name carefully, “but I avoid taking it if I can. It’s supposed to help me sleep, but sometimes it just makes the fog denser, keeps me from coming out of it.”

He expects to see wariness in Buck’s eyes, some sort of realization of exactly what he’d signed up for. But instead, he reaches out, rubbing Eddie’s forearms with his hands, “That sounds awful. I’m sorry that happens to you.”

Eddie waits in silence for him to continue, expecting him to _run_ , frankly. Their relationship, if that’s what this is, is still in its infancy, only hours old, and already his baggage is out there, unlatched suitcases strewn between them, entangled in the already domestic comfort of Buck’s bed. And fuck, Eddie’s heart nearly bursts as he watches Buck step over them, arms reaching out to pull him against his chest. This time he wraps his arms tightly, almost _too_ tightly, around Eddie’s trunk, trapping his own arms at his sides.

“Buck, what--”

“Just let it work,” is all he says, stubbornly, but as Eddie relaxes into his hold, he realizes that Buck is letting his body reconcile with his steady heartbeat, letting his breath slow until their chests have found the same rhythm.

“I think I’ve settled if you want some space,” Eddie hedges finally, once his breathing has leveled, but he makes no move to free himself. The pressure of Buck’s arms around him is soothing, and he feels safe in a way he hasn’t in so long.

“Something you might have surmised,” Buck mumbles, only half-awake himself, “is that I’m a big cuddler. And unfortunately for you, I’m too tired to move.”

“ _Oh no_ ,” Eddie teases dryly, but he’s content to settle into Buck’s embrace. He shifts only enough to lean up and kiss Buck’s chin. “Thank you, Buck. I--thank you.”

Buck’s eyes are closed, and his breathing is shallow. Eddie hopes he’s already asleep because if he isn’t, he couldn’t have missed the way Eddie’s voice had caught. Eddie is terrified of what he’d nearly admitted, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

 _I love you_ , he says, only to himself, and lets that be enough for a while.

* * *

Buck looks almost as tired as he does when he returns from his apartment with enough clothes to last a few days. This thing they have, whatever it is, still goes unnamed, but for three weeks now Buck has been sleeping in his bed. And for all the nights that Buck’s arms soothe him like a weighted blanket, there are others when his thrashing wakes them both up.

Last night was worse than usual, and when Buck finally manages to wake him, his eyes are full of tears and he’s sobbing. He turns away, trying to hide his face, but Buck is dragging him into his chest. He can’t stop the tears from coming, just clings to Buck, soaking his shirt with his tears until the pain subsides.

“Do you remember this one?” Buck asks softly, his lips pressed against Eddie’s scalp, smoothing his hair out of his face and scattering kisses where he can reach. “Want to tell me?”

He does and he doesn’t. He loves Buck, wants to protect him from the darkness that roils his insides. He knows that Buck doesn’t want him to keep things from him, but some things he can’t bear to share, can’t bear to expose Buck to unknowingly.

“Afghanistan. A lot of blood.”

It’s as much as he can tell him without saying too much. In truth, the blood was the least of the carnage. Body parts were strewn in the wake of an explosion, tiny shoes that made him gasp for air, knocking him to his knees when he saw that there were tiny feet inside them.

“Eddie, I know you don’t want to tell me, and nothing I say will make that okay for you. But you need to talk to Frank, _someone_. You can’t keep all of this inside man, it’s killing you.”

 _Which is killing me_. Buck doesn’t say the words, but his eyes are desperate. He can see the pain he’s causing Buck, knowing there’s nothing he can do but hold him, no way to ease his burden. But even Frank can’t solve everything.

“Frank’s never been to a war zone,” Eddie says shortly. “It’s nothing you can describe. You have to be there to understand.”

“You got anybody from your unit that lives around here?” Buck asks, refusing to drop the subject. He’s rocking back and forth, his body instinctually trying to comfort Eddie, even though he feels a little silly being rocked like a child.

“Nope, just me,” Eddie answers him. Come to think of it, it’d been years since he’d reached out to anyone from his unit. He’d meant to, but then life had gotten in the way. He yawns, and it’s enough that Buck seems to leave it alone. He leans back against the pillow, his arms still wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders and holding him close. Buck’s steady heartbeat is hypnotic, the rhythm slowing his racing thoughts until he sleeps. Buck doesn’t let him go.

Before running home this morning, Buck left a hot cup of coffee on his bedside table, already made to his liking. Christopher is already up, and he’s finally reached the age where he spends the morning watching TV and letting Eddie sleep in. He makes them both cereal, wishing Buck had made something better before leaving and surprised how quickly Buck had changed their routines.

When he comes back, he’s already dressed, and he tosses his bag to the side of the door hastily, before looking up to find them both still in their pajamas and eating cereal on the couch.

“Well you guys are slow to start this morning aren’t you?” he teases them, hustling around the kitchen to put away anything Eddie had taken out for breakfast. It gives them enough time to finish their cereal, and just as Eddie drops his spoon into his empty bowl, Buck is there to take it from him. “I’ve got these. Why don’t you guys get dressed? I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Eddie is hesitant, wondering if he’d forgotten some prior arrangement, but Buck’s expression is open and optimistic, his eyes asking for trust. He’s distracted by Christopher bursting beside him, and he lags behind him on the way down the hall as he names off possibilities.

They both emerge dressed, and while Eddie is still bleary-eyed from his interrupted sleep, he follows in a daze as Buck shepherds them out the door to his car.

“So Bucky, where are you taking us?” Christopher asks, legs swinging excitedly from his booster seat. “Can we go to the aquarium? I want to see the sea otters again. Did you know they have a pocket for their favorite rock?”

Well, that certainly explains the number of rocks that had been showing up in the pockets of his jeans.

“If that’s what you want to do bud, that’s what we’ll do!” Buck agrees, his tone aggressively positive. “But first we’re going to drop dad off somewhere.”

“Where are we dropping dad off exactly?” Eddie asks, his reluctance clear from both his tone and his withering expression.

“After you fell asleep last night, I was thinking,” Buck murmurs, turning up the music and lowering his voice so Christopher can’t hear him, “and I had this idea. It might be stupid, but I think you should try it.”

He thinks back to the hurt on Buck’s face when he held him the night before, and he nods, knowing that he needs to do whatever he can to lessen that pain.

They pull up to a nondescript building, and Buck tells Chris to wait in the car, leaving it running for him. He hops out, but Eddie has trouble following him as he reads the sign over the door. _Veterans of Foreign Wars_.

For years, the only way he has borne the weight of his service was by shouldering the burden alone, burying it as deep as he could so that he didn’t let it affect his life now. Even when he mentions his former life, sees the flicker of familiarity in the eyes of another veteran, he immediately shuts down any conversation that might bring those memories to the surface. It’s the reason his Silver Star remains buried under his socks, instead of on display like so many others.

So this building, these _people_ , are like a minefield. Any one of them could set off something, some kernel of trauma that he has managed to smother, and blindside him. While there are heavy curtains that segment his mind, keeping those memories from his every day, he knows they lurk there, just out of sight.

Buck’s opened his door now, but he’s still sitting there, his mind racing. He’d learned how to push past his fears long ago, had to, to survive a war zone and race into burning buildings, but this seems tougher than any fire or firefight. He searches out Buck’s eyes, pleading with him to understand, to take him away from this place, but Buck holds firm.

“Eddie, you know you need to do this. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for Christopher,” he tells him, voice stern but full of empathy. “Do it for _us_ Eddie. You can’t go on like this.”

Buck leans in to kiss him, and he comes to life under his touch. A pinpoint of light burns within him, growing until he is calm again and able to face his fears. He breathes in deep, holding the smell of Buck’s cologne in his chest before letting it out, and then he falls as much as steps from the Jeep.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Buck asks, and part of him does, wants Buck to lead him by the hand so he can’t run, but he also knows that this is something he has to do for himself.

“No, you guys have fun at the aquarium,” Eddie tells them, leaning into the car so that Christopher can see that he’s fine, even if it’s a pasted-on smile. “Try not to buy out the gift shop, okay?”

He steps away from the car, and before Buck gets back in, he pauses to embrace Eddie in a backbreaking hug, then he kisses his cheek just beside his ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

He straightens his posture, wanting to prove that he’s worth Buck’s confidence in him, and then he waves them off from the curb. He walks up to the door, but then stalls before going in. He reads the hours on the plexiglass door, calculates the number of hours left in the day, checks the hours for the other days of the week, and he’s counting the days until the next holiday when someone clears their throat behind him.

He turns to find an older man in a Vietnam ball cap waiting behind him on the stoop. He’s leaning on a cane, and he’s certainly getting up in years, but he still holds himself with a sense of authority.

“You going in?”

“I think so,” he says, realizing how dumb he sounds as he says it. The man nods, looking him over before reaching in front of him to get the door.

“Right, so you’re new then,” he says, holding the door behind him to let Eddie in. “Let me give you the tour.”

The tour is finished in all of a minute and a half after the man half-heartedly waves at the bar before pointing in the direction of the john, which is all he finds necessary. It’s a weekend afternoon, so the place isn’t exactly crowded, but there’s a gathering of men on a second or third-hand couch in the corner, watching the game on a rather large television.

The wall beside the television is covered in memorabilia from every war in the past century, including the ones that have no survivors left to remember them. There’s another, more official, wall of names that serves as a memorial, but this one is covered in pictures of guys who had once served together, pieces of the lives they led overseas.

After fulfilling his host duties, the man stops at the bar and asks for a beer, before heading to a long table. There’s a crockpot, some hamburger buns, and snack size bags of potato chips, and when Eddie hovers behind him, the man nods that he should help himself.

“Sheila makes plenty,” he says by way of an explanation. “Saves me from my wife’s cooking at least. Looks like sloppy joes today.”

He looks him over gruffly, must be searching for some sign of his age and rank, “Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” he answers quickly. “I was a combat medic.”

He purposely doesn’t mention his Silver Star, isn’t ready to share that part of his past just yet. The man gives him a short nod, as if he passes inspection, and then takes a seat at one of the round tables scattered around the room. They’re close enough they can see the game, but far enough that they can hear over the commentary of the others.

“What’s your name kid?” the man asks, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose before biting into his sandwich.

“Diaz, sir,” he says, taking the safe route of addressing him as if he outranks him, erring on the side of deference. “Eddie Diaz.”

“I’m Pete,” the man finally says, wiping his hand off on his cargo pants before offering it to shake. “But most people call me Poet. At least around here. Reminds me of the guys I served with. Vietnam.”

He tips his cap for emphasis, before adjusting it on his head. His hair is white beneath the cap, curling out from under the brim, and he’s got a trim beard. He looks more like an old hippie than he does a former soldier. In all fairness, he certainly does look like a poet.

“Are you?” Eddie asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“A poet?” he asks, though it’s probably not the first time he’s gotten this question. “Some. I tried anyway. But I got the name because I had all these poems committed to memory. So when things were slow, and we could hear over the pelting rain, I would rattle them off for the other guys.”

“Good for morale?”

He scoffs, “Not always. I was a morbid son of a bitch. You know _Dulce et Decorum Est_?”

“Not much for poetry, sorry.”

To his surprise, Poet leans back in his chair and begins to recite. When he starts, few take notice, but by the end of the first stanza, someone has turned down the television and all eyes are on him.

    

> **Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,**
> 
> **Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,**
> 
> **Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,**
> 
> **And towards our distant rest began to trudge.**
> 
> **Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,**
> 
> **But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;**
> 
> **Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots**
> 
> **Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.**
> 
> **Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling**
> 
> **Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,**
> 
> **But someone still was yelling out and stumbling**
> 
> **And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—**
> 
> **Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,**
> 
> **As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.**
> 
> **In all my dreams before my helpless sight,**
> 
> **He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.**
> 
> **If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace**
> 
> **Behind the wagon that we flung him in,**
> 
> **And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,**
> 
> **His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;**
> 
> **If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood**
> 
> **Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,**
> 
> **Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud**
> 
> **Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—**
> 
> **My friend, you would not tell with such high zest**
> 
> **To children ardent for some desperate glory,**
> 
> **The old Lie: _Dulce et decorum est  
>  _**
> 
> **_Pro patria mori._ **

The room is silent for a moment, then someone begins clapping and the rest follow lazily before they return to their game. Poets sets his eyes on Eddie again, and he translates the Latin even though Eddie already knows the meaning, his tone honeyed and sarcastic, “It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.”

Eddie is silent, and his first thought is of Greggs, the worn out picture he’d pulled from his breast pocket of the children he left behind. Poet must recognize the distant look in his eyes, because he leaves him be.

“I was drafted,” Poet tells him unprompted, answering the question he had been afraid to ask. “At first I was deferred as a student, but then I rebelled against the system and flunked out. Fortunately for the system, they had my number. My creative writing professor, I think he’d fought in the Second World War, he gave me this book of Wilfred Owen poems. I don’t know if he meant it as a warning or a consolation. But I memorized that shit back to front.”

Eddie still has nothing to say, is more prepared to listen than to tell, but Poet looks up at him, meeting his eyes, “I never read the biography at the back. And then one day I did, wondering if I could write to the guy, tell him he’d made it all the way to Vietnam.”

He knows what Poet is going to say next, even before he says it, and he feels his stomach hollow out as he informs him, “Wilfred Owen was killed in action in France in November 1918, a week before the armistice was signed. He was twenty-five.”

Poet goes quiet now, sipping his beer and watching the game, though Eddie can feel him eyeing him in his peripheral, “So what brings you here Diaz?”

He chokes down the bile that rises in his throat as he tries to face his own weakness, but Poet continues watching him, letting him gather his thoughts.

“Did you ever have nightmares when you got back?” he finally manages, and Poet prods the rim of his glass thoughtfully.

“Sure,” Poet answers him, his voice full of understanding. “But they waned over the years. When they got bad, I would call my buddy Mack in Portland and we’d talk about what we remembered. We’d start with the jokes, the shit we pulled, but eventually we’d get around to the hard things. It helped to have someone to talk to that _knew_. Maureen could listen, sure, but she couldn’t understand.”

“I’ve got a Maureen, I think,” Eddie answers, and then he debates what he says next, but decides that Buck is worth the risk. “His name is Buck. And I’ve never wanted to share my life with someone as much as I want to be with him, to give him everything. I know he thinks he wants to know, wants me to reveal all the dark parts of my past, but I don’t think he understands what that means.”

“Do you trust him?” Poet asks the question that he’d been trying to avoid. Because the answer is an unequivocal yes. But this isn’t a question of trust. He doesn’t want to burden Buck with the knowledge of who he was then and what he’d gone through.

He tells Poet as much, “I trust that he _thinks_ he can handle it, but then I wake up thrashing and groaning, and I can see the fear in his eyes as he holds me down. How can I tell him that the nightmares aren’t works of my imagination. They’re things I really saw over there, things I _did_. I’m sure he doesn’t think his opinion of me will change, but what if he doesn’t see me the same? What if he thinks I’m a monster?”

“Sound like maybe you don’t trust him enough,” Poet shrugs, and Eddie can sense the challenge. “Maureen was my pen pal. Her brother was in my unit, and he thought she’d like some sappy love poetry. I tried to run her off, wrote about the mosquitoes and the hum of the choppers and the gore when my corporal's leg got blown off by a grenade. Thought every letter would be the last, but then I found out my tour was over and she asked if I was ever going to get around to marrying her. So I called her bluff, and we’ve been together nearly fifty years.”

“So you think I should let him in?”

“I think you should trust that he knows his own limits,” Poet answers carefully, not wanting to overstep. “And maybe you should consider that he isn’t afraid of your past. He’s afraid of what is so awful that you’d keep it from him. And he knows that it’s hurting you. Because even I can see that.

“But as for the nitty gritty, if it helps to talk about it with people who have been there, as long as there is war, there will be veterans. The old guys like me won’t shut up, and we throw a mean Poker Night, but there are younger guys too. I think Aaron over there was in Afghanistan, but he’s older than you. He went in just after 9/11, when you were probably still just a kid. Lost one of his legs to an IED. Max is probably closer to your age? I think they’ve got some sort of video game night, but you’d have to check the bulletin board.

“If you want to join, I can get you the number for our chapter president. Dues are fair considering all the free food. And sometimes it’s just nice to feel like you’re not the only one who left a part of yourself overseas.”

It’s quite the poetic diagnosis, but it rings true. Sometimes he feels like his nightmares are tied like an invisible thread between his mind and the pieces he’d left behind in the Valley of Death. Slowly, he needed to drag the pieces back together, close the distance and hopefully steady his thoughts.

“I’d love that number, if you have it.”

* * *

When Buck finds him, he’s three beers down with Poet, and he’s letting him sample his repertoire. Thankfully he’d perked up over the course of their conversation, and had started telling dirty limericks after his fourth beer.

Buck walked up just as he began, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at the concerned look on his face when he overhears Poet’s latest effort.

> **There once was man from Nantucket  
>  ** **Who's dick was so long he could suck it  
>  ** **He said with a grin, as he wiped off his chin  
>  ** **If my ear were a taint, I would fuck it!**

“I see you’ve made a friend,” Buck observes, rounding Poet’s shoulder. The older man turns in his chair, and his face lights up.

“Is this your young man? Buck, is it?” Poet recalls, slapping his hands on his knees in excitement as he looks him over. “Oh yes, I can certainly see the appeal. Good work.”

“This is Poet,” Eddie introduces. “He lured me in with a little more nuance, I swear.”

Buck’s expression is friendly and open, but his eyes note Eddie’s absence, his hands all but reaching for him. Poet’s eyes soften as he looks between them, and he clears his throat. His voice is low and reflective as he begins his soliloquy.

    

> 
>     **Dear love, what thing of all the things that be**  
>     > 
>     **Is ever worth one thought from you or me,**  
>     > 
>     **Save only Love,**  
>     > 
>     **Save only Love?**  
>     > 
>       
>     > 
>     **The days so short, the nights so quick to flee,**  
>     > 
>     **The world so wide, so deep and dark the sea.**  
>     > 
>     **So dark the sea;**  
>     > 
>       
>     > 
>     **So far the suns and every listless star,**  
>     > 
>     **Beyond their light—Ah! dear, who knows how far,**  
>     > 
>     **Who knows how far?**  
>     > 
>       
>     > 
>     **One thing of all dim things I know is true,**  
>     > 
>     **The heart within me knows, and tells it you,**  
>     > 
>     **And tells it you.**  
>     > 
>       
>     > 
>     **So blind is life, so long at last is sleep,**  
>     > 
>     **And none but Love to bid us laugh or weep,**  
>     > 
>     **And none but Love,**  
>     > 
>     **And none but Love.**

Eddie still hasn’t used that word to describe his feelings for Buck, but that doesn’t make them less true. He holds Buck’s eyes across the table, and he can tell that his meaning is clear on his face, because Buck glows under his loving gaze.

“Thank you Poet, that was beautiful,” he says, barely taking his eyes off of Buck. “I should get going, but so should you. Take that one back to Maureen, why don’t you?”

“She’s more of a sonnet gal,” Poet chuckles, and he raises his empty glass to toast them. “And she’d love to meet you two. I swear, her cooking isn't _that_ bad.”

“Buck’s a great cook,” Eddie offers, and he surprises even himself when he reaches for his hand and holds it between his own. This thing between them is new, so new that they haven’t worked out the rules when it comes to publicly showing affection, but it feels right to claim Buck here, declare the _good_ that he has found since leaving the service.

“Maybe we can have you over some time,” Buck offers, squeezing his hand. His heart expands with how easily Buck has fit into his space. It only feels natural that he would invite them to _their_ home.

“That would be nice,” Poet smiles knowingly. “My number is on that information I gave you. Like I said, it’d be nice to have you around here. And it helps, I think.”

“Thank you,” Eddie tells him, and he means it, feeling _seen_ in a way he hasn’t in a long time. Buck’s thumb strokes his palm, and he nods before saying his goodbyes.

When Buck leads him to the car, he realizes that Christopher isn’t with him, scolding himself for not realizing sooner. Sometimes he takes for granted that Buck can be responsible for Christopher, that he can make decisions for his well being, and that Eddie can trust those decisions.

Buck must see the pensive set of his brow, because he explains, “I mentioned to Hen that you and I might need to talk about some things, and she offered to have Chris over for a sleepover. I dropped him off before coming to get you. I hope that’s--”

“Great, Buck. That’s great. Thank you,” he interrupts, before Buck can worry himself. He knows that Buck worries about overstepping the boundaries of their relationship, but the thing that makes him uneasy isn’t that Buck has taken guardianship of Christopher so easily, but how comfortable he is giving him that authority. He’d spent years guarding his son from the world, but with Buck he knows Christopher is safe. “Should we get some dinner? Or do you want to head back to the house?”

“I feel like making you something, if that’s okay,” Buck admits, turning to look at him for a moment before returning his eyes to the road. “You can keep me company. Tell me how it went today.”

“It was good,” Eddie admits, covering Buck’s hand on the gear shift. “But the rest can wait until I can thank you properly.”

Thankfully, the ride home is short, and they’re barely through the front door when Eddie traps him against the wall, stealing his breath with a kiss, pent up from hours apart. Buck returns the kiss, but then laughs before disentangling himself.

“You can’t distract me that easily,” Buck teases him, before heading toward the kitchen, expecting Eddie to follow. Of course he does, doesn’t want to be far from him, and takes a seat at the kitchen island. He offers to help, but Buck is full of fluid motion and muscle memory, and encourages him to talk while he works. “I should start by saying that I’m sorry if it wasn’t my place to suggest--”

“No, it was a good idea. One I would have come up with myself if I wasn’t so stubborn. Thank you,” Eddie admits. “But I should warn you that one afternoon isn’t going to _fix_ me.”

Buck stills over the cutting board, before setting down the knife and turning on him, taking offense to something he said.

“What?” he asks, as Buck chews the air.

“I don’t want to _fix_ you,” Buck finally says, like it should be obvious. “God, Eddie, why would I want to fix you? You’re not broken. I fell in love with you the way you are. I know you’re stubborn and fiercely protective of the ones you love, and I love that about you, but I want you to treat yourself with the same care you would treat Christopher or me. And this has obviously been hurting you. I just wanted to ease some of that burden.”

Eddie wishes he could focus on Buck’s words, string together everything he’s said, but his brain has caught on one phrase, and all he can do is let it wash over him.

Buck returns to cutting, but he looks uneasy because Eddie is still struck silent. Eddie wants to lessen the strain on his face, so he says whatever comes to his lips first.

“I thought...I've been holding back, because I thought...you love me?”

Relief washes over Buck’s face as he realizes what had Eddie so caught up, “Oh, you heard that, huh? I do, Eddie. I love you. I’m _in_ love with you. And it’s the _you_ right across from me okay? Not whatever you think I’m looking for. I love _you_.”

“How?”

It’s not what he meant to say, but his vision blurs as tears come to his eyes. For all the trauma this day had brought up, it’s Buck’s unconditional love, and the openness with which he shares it, that does him in.

Buck looks up from his task to see Eddie falling apart in front of him, and he stops what he’s doing. He turns off the stove and gathers Eddie into his arms.

“Eds, sweetheart, what’s going on? Please tell me. Was it too much? I can take it back,” Buck rattles off nervously, his hold tight around Eddie’s chest.

“What do you mean you can take it back? That’s not how it works,” Eddie reminds him, clearly distressed, but letting out a nervous laugh. “Do you not love me?”

Buck hesitates, like his answer is a trap, but then finally admits, “No, I am very much in love with you. Unfortunately. But if you’re not ready, if you don’t feel that way, that’s okay!”

“But I do,” Eddie tries to explain, and wants so badly for him to understand why his emotions are in flux. “God, I love you Buck. But that’s _easy_. You make it so easy to love you. But how can you love me? I’m full of secrets and scars, like a grenade waiting to go off. I’ve thrown up wall upon wall to keep people out, and you just keep plowing through them. How could I deserve you?”

“Deserve me?” Buck asks, clearly offended, but trying to be understanding. “Eddie, that’s not how this works. You don’t need to earn my love. And you shouldn’t have to. All that you need to do is love me? Do you?

“I do,” Eddie confesses, and then despite the tears that run down his face, he kisses Buck, who kisses him back like Eddie is precious to him, the tips of his fingers tracing the tears on his cheeks. “And god am I scared.”

“Me too. Come here,” Buck seems to have given up on dinner entirely, requesting a change of venue and leading Eddie to the bedroom. Eddie expects them to tumble into the sheets together, but instead Buck guides him to the edge of the bed. “I have an idea, and you can say no if you want to.”

Eddie is silent, but doesn’t discourage him, so he goes on.

“You’re so afraid of these scars coming between us, and I know you mean the thoughts and the emotions, but you hide your physical scars too. And don’t try to deny it, please.”

Eddie nods, reflexively moving his hand to circle his own wrist, obscuring the scar on the inside of his wrist automatically, before quietly explaining, “Shannon couldn’t look at them. They scared her.”

“Well, Eddie. I’m not scared. When I say I want to be with you, I mean all of you, including your scars,” Buck answers, determined. He kneels to the floor between Eddie’s legs, and Eddie’s afraid to look at him, but then he does, and Buck looks so _strong_ , willing to take on the weight of his thoughts, and he’s just weak enough he’s willing to give. “You were shot three times, right? Once in the wrist?”

“I cover it with my watch band,” Eddie admits, and he loosens his fingers as Buck unfurls them, then nods as Buck reaches for his watchband, giving him permission to unfasten the watch and set it aside. Beneath the watch is scarred tissue, nearly white and slicing across his wrist. “The bullet grazed, thankfully. Didn’t lose any fine motor function.”

To his surprise, Buck spreads his hand so he can see the scar fully. Eddie is nervous under his gaze, but then Buck looks up at him with so much love that it assuages his fears. He bows his head, softly grazing his lips over the skin before kissing it fully.

He expects this to be over, expects Buck to embrace him and be done with it, but then he turns his hand over and kisses his knuckles.

“The next one,” he says, calm but intent. Eddie stalls, but Buck’s thumb traces his collarbone over his shirt. “Here, right?”

He’s frustratingly close to the mark, and Eddie is suddenly embarrassed that Buck had noticed his scars before. All the time he’d tried to conceal them, Buck had seen through him the whole time.

Wordlessly, Buck tucks his fingers into the hem of Eddie’s shirt and pulls it over his head. He uses his thumb to trace the path of the scar, shifting Eddie to see the exit point as well as the entry. Most of the mottled skin is on the back of his shoulders, and he’d long considered a tattoo to disguise it, but Buck doesn’t look disgusted or fearful at all.

Instead his fingers trace curiously over the nearly white scars and the pink discoloration around them. Eddie’s nerves began to give in to something else, something resembling intimacy, and then Buck’s mouth kisses a line across his shoulder, his tongue soothing the marks as if they were fresh.

Buck is distracted for a moment, his mouth focusing just to the side of the scar above his collarbone, sucking his own mark there, until Eddie pushes him back gently, giving in to the exercise and allowing Buck past what's left of his defenses.

“The last went through my thigh, just below the groin,” his tone is measured, his language clinical, but his eyes must give something away, because Buck doesn’t follow him when he stands. He unfastens his pants, shoving them to the floor. Without thinking he shoves his briefs down with them, feeling especially vulnerable, but _wanting_ that with Buck.

Buck helps free the clothes from his ankles, and ignores his half-hard erection completely, tracing the trajectory from the quarter-sized scar on the inside of his thigh to the larger one on the back. He lifts Eddie’s knee, turning it so that he can bow his head and press his lips to the scar, his day-old scruff ticking the sensitive skin.

He looks up at Eddie, searching for some confirmation that he’s okay, that this exercise hasn’t put him on edge. In fact, it’s done the opposite, and as Buck looks up at him he leans forward to capture his lips. He leads Buck onto his haunches, pulling him awkwardly on top of him as he falls back onto the mattress.

“Do you believe me?” Buck asks, as Eddie frees his lips to scatter kisses over his face, hands working under his shirt and trying to tug it off. “I’ve seen your scars Eddie, and you’ve seen mine. I don’t love you because of them or despite them. I love them because they’re part of you, and god am I in love with you Eddie. All of you.”

Eddie grabs his jaw, pulling him into a forceful kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath. Buck’s jeans are rough against his bare legs, and he suggests their removal with his hands, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband and palming his ass until Buck grumbles and stands to ease them off his hips.

Eddie watches, sitting up on his elbows to watch his progress. His eyes catch on the spiderweb of scars that spread from Buck’s hip, remembering what his leg looked like when he first sustained the injury, the purple and gray blotches they weren’t sure he could come back from. It never once colored his attraction to him, the tangle of scars or the titanium bolts, or even the smudge of a birthmark above his stunning blue eyes.

Instead, they are just the pieces that make up the man he loves. He’s starting to see that Buck feels the same about him. He doesn’t see him as a project _or_ a hero, just the man that, for some reason, he wants to be with, the man that he _loves_.

Fully undressed now, Buck crawls over him, acres of warm skin pressing him into the bed. Without thinking too much about it, he spreads his hand over Buck’s scar, cradling his hip in his hands without putting undue pressure on it.

Buck sees through him, his lips trailing up from his throat to whisper against his ear, “It doesn’t hurt anymore. I promise.”

Eddie turns his head to capture Buck’s lips, but lets him take the lead, guiding him up the bed until they’re against his headboard, Buck sucking another bruise into his chest.

“Buck, I know we said...but if we keep this up I don’t think I can…”

“I don’t plan on stopping short this time,” Buck admits, and Eddie can see the restraint lift from his shoulders. “I told you Eds, I want all of you.”

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, and this is his house, his bed, so he stretches across the mattress to get his nightstand open. He rifles blindly, Buck distracting him with feather-light kisses to his bicep, before coming up with a bottle of lubricant.

One benefit of waiting, of taking their time with this thing, was a matching set of clean test results that meant he could feel all of Buck, with no barrier between them. And he knows what he wants most from this experience, what he needs.

“I _want_ you,” he demands, his eyes connecting with Buck’s to tell him what he needs, even if more descriptive words fail him. “Fuck, I _need_ you Buck. Please.”

“You’re s--” Buck tries to ask, ever considerate, but in one motion Eddie searches out his cock, wrapping his fingers around him and stroking underhand as he swallows Buck’s surprise with an insistent kiss. When he retreats, lips swollen from the pressure of Eddie’s need, he nods. “Fuck, _yes_.”

Buck gets to work methodically, reaching for the lube and spreading Eddie against the pillows, fingers trailing gently across his skin before leaning forward to ghost his lips over Eddie’s chest, distracting him by sucking his nipple into his mouth as he feels fingertips probe at his rim.

“I’ll make this feel so good for you, Eddie,” Buck murmurs against his skin, his lips leading lower until they follow the trail from his navel to his cock. “God, you’re gorgeous. I can’t even believe you’re letting me do this.”

“Letting you?” Eddie pants as Buck slips a slick finger into him, distracting him by taking the head of his cock between his lips. He’s surprised by the competing sensations, and he thrusts into Buck’s mouth, seeking more of the wet warmth. He mutters an apology, but Buck is already taking him deeper, adding another probing finger.

Eddie takes hold of Buck’s messy curls, searching for something to anchor him to this place, this feeling. He feels like he’s floating under Buck’s touch, having an out of body experience as Buck slips his shaft out of his mouth and nuzzles at the base of his cock, taking his balls against his tongue and rolling them beneath the loose skin, balancing the new sensation by adding a third finger to the two inside him and flexing them. The stretch burns, but Buck makes it feel incredible, and he’s impatient to see what he can do with the fullness of his cock.

“I can’t...please,” he gasps, aware of how close Buck has brought him to the edge with just the gentle prodding of his mouth and fingers. “God Buck, I need you more than air, _please_.”

It makes no sense, but it’s true. The need he feels is so basic, so primal, that it feels as necessary as breathing. Buck doesn’t tease him, doesn’t laugh. Instead he seems to understand the urgency, and he retracts his fingers, kissing the curve of Eddie’s pelvic bone as he reaches for the lube to lubricate himself with a few quick strokes, and then he looms over Eddie, waiting for his assent.

“I love you Buck,” he offers, reaching up to cradle Buck’s face in his palm. Buck turns to kiss the pad of his thumb, but still he waits, until Eddie implores, “ _Please_.”

Buck bows his head reverently, searching out Eddie’s lips as he slowly slips inside him, swallowing Eddie’s moans as he gropes senselessly at his neck and shoulders, once again needing to anchor himself. He's right, the burn is painful, but just on the edge of the pain are licks of pleasure, licks that burn brighter as Buck finds a rhythm.

He circles his arms around Buck’s shoulders, so wide that his hands don’t reach, so he grips him tightly around his shoulder blades and pulls him impossibly closer, wanting to take him deep until they’re joined. Buck understands him wordlessly, buries himself deep and shortens his thrusts as Eddie’s fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving moon-shaped marks that will be there, even when this is over; when they are spent and sated, they’ll be a reminder of what this closeness feels like.

Buck drags him forcefully up the headboard, supporting his back with long arms that wrap around his waist. Eddie curls his legs upward, tangling them together as he searches out Buck’s lips again, and he truly does need him more than air it seems, getting lightheaded before he comes up to take gulping breaths, then once again giving in to the surge.

Buck’s back strains, trying to unsuccessfully disguise the grimace on his face, but Eddie knows that face so well. He tumbles him backward, taking over as Buck adjusts to being laid out. For a moment, he’s taken aback, but then he takes in the sight of Eddie riding him, balanced over him and delighted by his own ingenuity, and he relaxes, giving in to the way this position makes Eddie preen, working himself on Buck’s cock.

“Oh god, Eddie, you’re beautiful like this, fucking yourself on my cock,” Buck praises him. “It’s not going to take much, fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good.”

“Please Buck, touch me, I want to come for you,” Eddie pleads. His thighs are strong, pumping up and down, as he balances on Buck’s lap, but he’s weak for the feeling he knows is just out of reach. “Harder, fuck, _please_.”

Buck plants his feet against the headboard and then he’s fucking into him, the force of their bodies slapping in the quiet of the room, both cursing, pleading for release. Buck’s hand is tight around him, stroking to the same sharp staccato as his thrusts, then he’s shouting as his hips jerk erratically, and Eddie feels the warm gush of his release as he lets go.

Eddie watches him go, loves the look on his face as he gives in to the feeling, and he drags his hips in a slow circle, loving the way Buck’s breath catches when he does so.

Buck is renewed, his fingers clutching Eddie’s hips hard enough to bruise, his other hand a vice around his cock, but then he lets go, and all at once the tightness of his hold giving way to the empty air sends him over the edge and he’s coming in spurts across Buck’s chest, grading down onto his softening cock.

He falls heavily over Buck, balancing his hands on either side of his head as he drags a sloppy kiss from his teasing mouth. Buck pulls him against his chest, ignoring the mess they’ve made and tightens his arms around him.

“I’m so in love with you,” he repeats, like he can’t stop himself from saying it, and Eddie agrees sleepily as his body goes lax, settling into the steady pressure of Buck’s hold on him. As he drifts near sleep, he can feel Buck’s breathing slow, but just before he falls asleep he murmurs again, so sleepily and so quietly that Eddie knows it's not for his benefit, “So in love.”

* * *

This time he wakes with a jolt, but not with the same cold sweats as the night before. He stirs, hoping he hasn’t woken Buck, but sees that he is still sleeping soundly. During the night, his body had shifted off of Buck, but his head and chest remain atop the expanding barrel of his chest.

Refreshed from a few hours of sleep, he is very aware of the crusty substance on his chest, so he extracts himself as carefully as he can, before padding to the bathroom for a glass of water and a washcloth.

He returns with both, just in case, and to his surprise finds Buck propped up and waiting for him, still sleepy but alert.

“Another nightmare?” he asks groggily, reaching for the damp cloth that Eddie offers him to wipe himself off. Eddie waits until he’s finished, then hands him the water to soothe his dry throat.

“Sort of?” Eddie admits, and he takes a deep breath, trying to take the old man’s advice. After all, Buck isn’t naïve. He’s seen plenty of death and destruction himself. As hard as it is, Eddie needs to give him a glimpse behind the curtain. “And sort of not.”

“Can you...do you want to talk about it?”

Eddie nods slowly, and Buck opens his arms for Eddie to lie inside the crook of his arm, where he feels safe and protected. He settles in, focusing on Buck’s thumb stroking over his bicep, patiently waiting for him to speak.

“There was this girl that used to come through camp, and she’d do laundry for some extra cash. Her name was Noor, and I thought she was maybe fifteen? Just a kid, you know? One day I notice that she’s putting on weight, and then I realize that she’s pregnant. I mean, I knocked up Shannon right, so I figure she’s with some boy in the village. Come to find out she’s married to some man three times her age. And he has her working, doing the laundry, even as she gets further and further along.

“I’m a medic, so every time she’s in camp, I make her sit, give her a check up, pass along some prenatal vitamins, but she waves me off. I tell her to send someone for me when she goes into labor, even if I have to bring along a female medic to actually deliver the baby. She tells me it’s no trouble, but I think I finally convinced her.

“We go out on a mission for nearly two weeks, and I forget, you know? It’s easy to throw yourself into the mission and forget everything you left behind, at camp, at home. So I don’t think of Noor. But then we get back, and I don’t see her for a while, and it dawns on me. I know where she lives, so I go to her house in the village, and her husband doesn’t answer. But the neighbor comes out and tells me the news.”

“Oh no,” Buck mutters, fully awake now and tugging him closer.

“I guess she’d sent her little brother and he didn’t know who to look for. He couldn’t find me, and everyone he talked to shooed him away. So the baby was delivered by a midwife, and there were complications. The baby was stillborn, and Noor never stopped bleeding. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”

“That’s not your fault,” Buck is quick to tell him. “You were doing your job.”

“I know that,” Eddie soothes, having made his peace with it. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d been there. If someone could have done an emergency C-section, maybe she’d still be alive. Or maybe she wouldn’t. I’ll never know.”

“So, was it Noor you dreamed about?” Buck asks softly, pressing his lips to Eddie’s scalp and nuzzling into his hair. “Was it awful?”

“No, actually,” Eddie smiled, leaning up so Buck could see his lightness. “She was playing with her daughter in a field. I’m not sure it was a girl, but I’ve always thought it was. A little girl with the same playful eyes. And she looked content. At peace, you know? It was nice.”

“I’m glad not all of your dreams are nightmares,” Buck observes, his fingers absently stroking Eddie’s hair now.

“Sometimes I dream of you, you know,” Eddie admits, and this almost feels more revealing than reliving the trauma of the past. “Things we’ve done, things we haven’t done. A future with you that hasn’t been written yet.”

“Future, huh? How far into the future?”

Eddie reaches up, his fingertips prodding the skin at the corners of his eyes, “Until you have crows feet just here,” he raises his fingers to Buck’s brow, “and age spots here,” but then he reaches for Buck’s other hand and pulls it against his heart, “and I’m still right here, madly and disgustingly in love with you.”

* * *

“Christopher, could you please get the last of your LEGOs out of the living room before our guests get here?” Buck shouts from the kitchen, over the clang of pots and pans as he prepares a three-course dinner for Eddie's friends.

Eddie smiles at how easily Buck transitioned into their lives. While most of his apartment is still packed in boxes in the garage, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that this is Buck’s home as much as theirs’ now.

He’d encouraged Buck to make himself at home, and little touches of Buck had appeared throughout their shared home. One day he’d come home wanting a gallery wall, and they’d spent the day side by side, choosing pictures of their family, of Shannon, of their family at the 118. Buck left a spot open, and Eddie knew what he was suggesting, but he wasn’t yet ready.

Today though, with Poet and Maureen on their way over for dinner, he finally feels the need to fill that space. The medal had moved from his closet to his sock drawer when he’d brought it to Christopher’s school for show and tell, but today he puts it in a small shadow box, then positions it in the space Buck had left for it. It’s the first time he’s had it one display since it was pinned to his chest all those years ago.

He’s been working tirelessly to be better for himself, for his son, and for Buck, to open up to him in a way he’d once thought impossible. He’d continued talking to Frank, but he’d also started paying dues to the VFW. He’d eventually found out that the under-40 crowd had a standing reservation on Tuesday nights. They’d get drunk and play _Call of Duty_ , and sometimes when their guards were down they would talk about the Middle East. Those nights it’s easy to come home, curl up with Buck on the couch, and tell him the stories he’d told that night, the effect of them lessened by the retelling. He can tell it pleases Buck that he’s willing to share with him, even when it’s hard.

“Eds, I know this is a stupid question because you wouldn’t even know what to do with it, but have you seen the garlic press?” Buck shuffles into the living room to ask the question, but he stops when sees the addition to their decor, a cautious smile on his face. “See, I knew it would look perfect there. What do you think?”

“It’s strange, for so many years I was scared of the damn thing. But up on the wall, it looks perfectly harmless.”

“Scared?” Buck prompts, though he must have surmised as much from Eddie’s hesitance in displaying it.

“When I came home, I didn’t want to put it up because I thought it would remind Shannon and Christopher of me being gone, and of where I’d been. It’s taken me all this time to realize that it was me that couldn’t take the reminder. If I didn’t see the Star, I didn’t have to think about what I’d done to earn it. It was easier just to take the fresh start and pretend I’d left it all in the past.”

“Anyway, then you showed up. Wore me down, woke me up, whatever you want to call it. And I guess the fact you loved me, loved all of me, helped me realize that I could too. And that Silver Star is as much a part of me as anything else on this wall. Well, except maybe this.”

He nods at the largest picture on the wall, one of the three of them on the beach in the bright morning sun. He and Buck had gotten married at the courthouse only days before the picture was taken. Buck's long arms are wrapped protectively around the both of them, beaming with pride at his acceptance into their family, and Eddie can't be embarrassed by his own expression, one of undying love and affection for his husband--his _husband_.

“You and Christopher are the best parts of me,” Eddie determines as he examines the picture, and Buck opens his mouth to argue, but Eddie’s stubborn expression extinguishes it. “In loving you, I found a way to love myself. And even when I was trying to bury the darkness, to hide the parts of myself I was ashamed of, you loved me unconditionally. The only way I’ll ever be able to thank you is to love you for the rest of my life.”

“In sickness and in health, and whatever else life throws at us,” Buck teases him, before reaching for his hand and leaning into his shoulder, dropping a kiss on the roundest part of his bicep. “I will love you to hell and back, Eddie Diaz.”

**Author's Note:**

> Both poems are by queer authors, which was not intentional but is definitely a plus. _Dulce et Decorum Est_ is by Wilfred Owen, and _Evening Song_ is by Willa Cather.


End file.
